


strawberry

by ruruka



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M, Post canon, jounouchi watch out the truck is coming Oh god he cant hear us he's smoking weed oh no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 14:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18625108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruruka/pseuds/ruruka
Summary: yugioh was my whole life when i was in junior high and now i’m about to start college and i still can’t stop thinking about how much i want seto kaiba to hit it raw from the back.





	strawberry

**Author's Note:**

> yugioh was my whole life when i was in junior high and now i’m about to start college and i still can’t stop thinking about how much i want seto kaiba to hit it raw from the back.

“Pass it, Honda, for shit’s sake, you smoke like a house fire.”

Another moment.

“You’re implying,” a tight, lingering breath replies, “that house fires smoke. They _produce_ smoke, but they don’t actually-”

“Just give me the goddamn blunt, would ya?”

Another day.

The clench of his belt is killing every vibe surfaced. There’s mahogany behind him, the strong jaw of the living room walls, gold wrapping every square inch of the air around them, too, because it is not a home but a museum of perfection. The sofa is white velvet and its pillows crushed now by slack bodies draped across them. Where he sits, just barely upright, on the chair posed beside it, he raises one set of fingers to toy with the latches at his waist, eyes half lidded and heart thrumming politely soft.

“Yeesh,” he hears come tumble in several thick coughs. Jounouchi waves a hand through the dribbling cloud of smoke before his mouth, offering his pinched hold toward the chair. “Getting horny, Yuugi? Hah, you’re a little killer sometimes.”

“Mh nh,” hums from his teeth, and Yuugi lifts his pointed nose toward the smoke to reject it. Leather lays loose afront his either hip. “My belt was just too tight. Ah, no thanks, though. I’m done.”

Six kisses off a blunt is more than enough for a circulatory system weaving through one hundred pounds. His shoulders tip behind him as he relaxes further, tracing a finger to the arm of the chair beneath it. Pristine white. Beside them, lamplight makes up for the drawing dusk.

In one _whoosh,_ Jounouchi pulls his arm back against himself, and the orange tip beyond his mouth flares in the subtle den dark. His eyelids close to hush the leftover smoke from his lips, ones that curl to a silky wicker grin with the thoughts tapping him. “Y’know, as much as I hate the guy, Kaiba _does_ have a pretty spankin’ house. Makes a nice little nest. Especially when he’s not here to piss me off.”

“Betcha, now that you just said that,” Honda points a finger up to interject, “he’s gonna walk in the door _a-ny_ second.”

“Yeah, right.” Scoffing, Jounouchi burns another centimeter off the joint as he inhales upon it. The exhale is a choking gag, where normally oration would sing out, as the front entry clacks, clips, washes with the waves of wind and cold as one step, two, press inside.

It takes no more than a half moment before Jounouchi is on his feet. A finger rushes out to train his barking eyes down it.

“Now _that’s_ some fuckin’ witchcraft! Black magic, I’m calling it!” Whether or not he’s to smirk, his mouth cannot decide, it seems, in its wavering little length. The maryjane smolders in his hanging left hand.

Attention circuits swiftly from cheek resting on knuckles; Yuugi’s alert as he can to watch them face each other, Jounouchi spitting hellfire with his shins stuck between the couch and coffee table, and in the second corner, his opponent, six feet of sin that stares him head to toe. A dirty look walks along Kaiba’s eyes.

“Oh, joy,” furls the cut of his tongue. “If it isn’t the minimum wage earning twenty year olds, stinking up my living room again.”

Yuugi favors the idea, then, that Otogi has picked the worst possible time to trail back from his twenty minute vanishing act to God knows where. His entrance from behind them pats in blinks, in a slow lowering of the daifuku in his powder-stained fingertips.

Turning back against himself, Yuugi clutches a hand against the chair fabric, teeth bared with the tight clench of a cringe.

“Hey, c’mon, don’t bag on Burger World like that,” is Jounouchi’s only demand. Tension fades from him as he collapses all his weight back in his spot, joint ashed on the table tray and arms free to rest over the sofa back. Idly, his simper stretches. “I’m doing wonders over there as the new Anzu-chan. I made eight hundred yen in tips yesterday.”

“Here’s a tip,” fills their ears like gunpowder. “Get off your ass and do something with your life besides ruining my upholstery.”

Metal swings forward into a more firm hold on the briefcase handle. Kaiba keeps his chin lifted, taut and moody, as he sweeps past the four of them with nary a glance spared. Otogi clears himself away with one step rightward, though does play the gentleman to offer out his half bitten daifuku to Kaiba on his strut by. Several glazed eyes follow its knuckle-slap sail from Otogi’s hand to the hardwood beneath their feet.

“So I take it Kaiba isn’t very happy to see us?” he whispers as he works himself back among the rest, fitting squarely between Jounouchi and Honda’s slumped bodies. Honda scoots an inch further to the sofa arm upon an elbowing against his ribs. Jounouchi coughs into the open air.

“When is that guy ever happy about anything?” Legs stretch out before him, one arm coming to sit lazy over his middle. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he spit on kittens. He- _hah,_ he probably- probably only smiles at _funerals_.”

“Relax, huh?” Honda waves a hand before his nose to warn. “Yuugi does love the guy, y’know.”

“I _know,_ ” he’s quick to blare back, and his benevolence returns by a curve of the lips. “No offense to you, Yuugs, you know I’m just ki- Hey, uh...where’d Yuugi go?”

Synchronized in fashion, the three of them poke focuses toward the empty warmth of the armchair beside them. Jounouchi blinks blankly, softly. Otogi tilts his head against curiosity. Honda bends at the waist, and raises back straightened with a half eaten daifuku lifting toward his teeth.

Beyond lamplight and leisure, the stairs do not creak, because it is a _museum,_ and his socks are soft heather black and tiptoe so subtly he hardly knows where to find breath. In fumbling hands, once he’s reached the apex of the steps, he rebuckles his belt at the front, blinking and sniffing himself right against the slightly opened wood frame door ahead of him.

It’s light enough inside to make his eyes regret it. Yet with no regard, he slinks forward through the opening to mix their gazes in the thin honey of their bedroom walls.

“Hey,” drawls _slowly_ from him, still with the tightened wince of his mouth that begs casualty. He blinks, _slowly,_ then shakes his head one note and paws forward. “How was work? Have you had dinner?”

“Is Mokuba home?” comes Kaiba’s only scorn, and Yuugi with his wide round eyes is _fast_ to snort back, “Oh, God no.” Never would he bother to point back that, well, for heaven’s sake, the kid’s turning seventeen soon, he probably knows more about paraphernalia than the quartet combined- no need to correct, just play genial. He works his skinny self around the end of their chiffon sheets, accepting better the tempt of the bulb light searing the pale flesh of his cheekbones. Those sheets dip down beneath his weight, sitting polite and earnest to watch the other beside him, unraveling himself from the bounds of necktie and cuffs.

“I’m sorry about, uh, ahaha...hah…” Though he’s trying, yes, there exists that certain level of malaise that slips his elbows on his thighs and spine hunched forward, chin and cheek arguing over which to lay on a tipped fist. Several positions rotate through before he decides upon hands on the knees to prop himself there, blinking, waiting. “It’s hard to say no to Jou when he asks to come over. I didn’t know Honda and Otogi were coming, too, and even when I _did_ know, I figured they’d be gone before you got home, but- Ah? You...ah..?”

The dull sunset haze in his eyes perks with more blinks, and more squints, tracing the way Kaiba’s hands keep their long, practiced strength in pulling a lighter from the nightstand drawer to flick upon the cigarette in his lips.

It sets back dully. Inhaling a drag, his lashes fall closed, open again to masquerade the smoke in a fat exhale against Yuugi’s face.

A scrunch finds it tidy, both hands flagging up to clear the mess away. “Yuck, Seto, you know I hate the smell of cigarette smoke.”

When the smoke clears (and oh, would he laugh himself stupid were it a better time to rejoice in perfect japing), Yuugi is in his same spot and Kaiba in his, though change brings together the heat of their noses once Kaiba has leaned closely enough for his breath to melt upon the other’s cheek. Hot and snarling. A deep rooted whisper that claims him in shivers.

“Those idiots make me miss being at my office,” he says, eyes thin, cigarette dangling between two chiseled fingers. “At least when someone there annoys me, I can have them killed.”

Ash flickers to the floor between his capped toes. Yuugi blinks what must be the thousandth time, pinching his body together as the perfect contortionist to slip away from his searing stare.

“Right, ahah, I’ll-” And he’s standing, now, hands bent high at his chest, uncertainty in the twist of his eyes. “It’s getting late, I’ll ask them to get going. Then we can- I’ll, um, make something for you to eat, okay? Dinner? Yes?” While Kaiba leers him all the way to the doorframe, Yuugi demands his smile stick in place, laughing at the back of his throat as he tucks yonderly a blond bang behind one ear. He swallows, clutching the door as a wooden anchor. “I love you, honey.”

“Hey, Yuugi!” batters suddenly his back into board straightness; the stairwell echoes with the bastardly boom of Jounouchi’s voice at its bottom, each syllable darkening the indigo shade of the glare ahead. “Come settle this- you can eat stuff past the sell-by date, can’t you? Pringles don’t just magically go bad just ‘cause some big corporation said they expired a couple weeks ago.”

“Uh-” His lips are pink and precious as they stretch out flatly across his face. Horror, beautiful horror that a fingertip raises up to scratch beneath the chin, and Yuugi coughs out in one stumble back, “I love you, I _really_ love you,” before shoving himself toward the stair landing. “I’ll-I’ll be right there, Jou! Maybe don’t eat something if you have to ask that about it first, though…”

Socks and steps and echos of dark glory. A tugging and principle gone missing.

Upstairs, in the beachfront flavor of their bedroom, Kaiba Seto sighs, takes a long drag from his cigarette and wonders just how madly in ardor he’s been pulled.


End file.
